


Party at Baker Street

by FatlockFills



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fatlock, Feeding, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:16:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatlockFills/pseuds/FatlockFills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, Greg, John, and Mycroft all indulge in lots of food in this feeding without plot or explanation scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party at Baker Street

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, panting for breath as Lestrade poked him hard in the stomach. He shifted his weight sluggishly, but that’s all he could do; his belly throbbed with torment and he wasn’t confident that he could even rise in his current condition. “You can manage a little more.” The DI lifted his chin with one hand, slipping a bite of pizza into his mouth. Sherlock chewed, swallowed, and groaned. 

"Sweets," he said when Greg went to feed him another bite, and took the opportunity to try to get his breath back as the inspector went to bring him donuts instead. He craned his neck, struggling to twist his engorged middle enough for him to peer over his shoulder. 

Mycroft was sprawled on the couch, John well on his way to feeding the elder Holmes out of his fancy suit. Sherlock could see a strip of pale gut bulging out against Mycroft’s tight trousers, his waist coat no longer covering his stuffed gut. 

"Don’t stare; you’ll be getting fat off of this too." Greg’s hands were gentle even when his words were rough, and he shifted Sherlock’s attention back to him. 

"Really? With age comes a slower metabolism. You should be worried about yourself." Sherlock smirked as Greg got red. The DI was filling up as well; one bite for every three Sherlock took was still showing as his gut hung over his trousers, shirt gaping around the buttons. 

"Watch your bloody mouth," Greg said, and for the next several minutes Sherlock couldn’t think beyond flavor and texture as one by one another three donuts were crammed into his stomach. He’d long since gotten rid of trousers and shirt, as unlike his brother he had no intention of bursting any buttons. Now he slid the waistband of his pants down so they rested beneath the swell of his gut, and sighed in pleasure. 

"I think it’s time to get you lying down." It ended up taking both Greg and John to help Sherlock up and get him to stagger, moaning, to the cot they’d laid out for him. His gut was swollen and tight, and they both rubbed it, sending shivers up and down his body as his overly sensitive flesh responded. After a few minutes he lifted a hand and slipped it under the hem of John’s jumper, smirking at the roundness of his belly beneath. John had been snacking as well; Sherlock guessed that if he kept it up, that formerly loose jumper wasn’t going to be able to hide it anymore. 

Mycroft was writhing like a beached whale, and Sherlock turned his head to watch as the two went to work on his brother. 

They took turns standing at the head of the couch, alternating cheesy, greasy pizza slices with bites of butter cream frosted cake, giving him whole milk to drink, and alternating every few bites with big ones of their own. Both Greg and John’s bellies visibly swelled in the time it took to get Mycroft’s gut to bulge out of the bottom of his waist coat, fat and white and bloated. When Greg finally undid the buttons, Mycroft’s belly bulged outwards with a groan from the man himself, and Greg bent to press hot kisses over the taut flesh. 

John sat in what had been Sherlock’s chair, a bit out of breath, belly stick out. “Come here,” Sherlock called, and when the doctor did so, settling the chair in front of Sherlock and resting the plate of thick, gooey chocolate biscuits on his gut, the detective grinned. He rubbed John’s protruding stomach as he slowly but surely worked his way through the plate. By the time John had finished them, his jumper no longer met his trousers over his swelling gut. 

Greg and Mycroft were together now, Mycroft’s belly rising and falling with his quick breathing, Greg’s tight gut between them as Mycroft’s skilled fingers flew over it. John was the last one left with any room inside of him, and slowly he became the center of attention as he tried valiantly to finish the last pizza they had ordered. 

"Do push yourself," Sherlock hissed, pressing his palm to the curve of John’s gut and feeling a give. "More. More, John, faster. Faster!" 

John chewed and swallowed like a piston, egged on by the three others, and as he finished the last slice the pressure was finally too much. His trouser button popped, letting his round, taut belly bulge into his lap and forcing his jumper up over his navel. 

There was a low murmur of a approval, and then silence as all four of them wallowed in the sweet pressure of fullness.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt received at fatlock.tumblr.com:
> 
> Anonymous said: How about a baker street foursome where all parties are stuffed to the brim with fattening foods.


End file.
